Nine Rings for Mortal Men
by Maegnas-is-my-name
Summary: LotR Crossover: Harry flees into the Forbidden Forest after a nasty tiff and befriends the Ancient Kings of Middle Earth. Will Harry fall to the corruption of the Rings of Power?
1. Default Chapter

Chapter 1 - Flight of the Gryffindor  
  
If one cared to notice, he or she (or it, as the case may be) would have taken note of the icy chill that pervaded the Hogwarts grounds on this dark, autumn evening. The trees on the dark border of the Forbidden Forest seemed to close ranks against any intruders who may have thought of entering that night. The stars shone bright in the evening sky, fighting for dominance of the sky against dark clouds that threatened to pour rain over the heads of the practicing Slytherin Quidditch team. Owls hunted mice with almost magical precision on the borders of the forest. No human, man or woman, was wandering the grounds to appreciate the beauty of nature this night. No one noticed the semi-transparent streak of silver and black, fading in and out of view as it began its descent from the grand steps of Hogwarts Castle, down past the Greenhouses, past the lop-sided hut of Hagrid the Gamekeeper on the lawn, and fading into the darkness of the Forest.  
  
********************  
  
The forest was cold this evening. If he only knew one thing to be true, it was that simple fact. He couldn't see where he was going - he had lost his glasses almost half an hour earlier, just on the outskirts of the forest. Even before then, his vision was blurred by the falling of rare tears. And yet he hit no tree, tripped over no root - he was guided by instinct, into the heart of the forest, where none but the bravest or most foolhardy dared to tread. His magical cloak, partially covering his small frame, failed to completely hide him from view, but that was of no consequence - none pursued him from the castle. No one ever followed when he ran.  
  
His breath came in great gasps, and he finally succumbed to fatigue - his legs gave out underneath him, and he collapsed in the center of a tiny clearing. Silver moonlight shone down over his crumpled form; he was still, for a moment. Then, giving vent to his rage, and especially to his loneliness, he shouted out the foulness of his feeling for the forest to hear; it heard his cry, and did not care. A small, unidentifiable rodent not five feet away ran away from a bit of carrion it had stumbled across and was promptly eaten by one of the dark inhabitants of the Forest. The forest bore witness, and did not care.  
  
He sat, crouched, consumed by his outrage and grief. Out of the shadows came the rustling of cloaks, hissing of ancient indrawn breath, closing of a gateway to another world. The cold was still there, but he was now numbed to it - he was used to being cold. It was now a fact of life, as inevitable as pain and death.  
  
He looked up. Eight identical cloaked figures, each facing him, barring escape, yet exuding no detectable hostility.  
  
He could no longer think straight. He could barely see straight.  
  
One of them, probably the leader of the eight, stepped forward, his hand outstretched. It was not visible, though, for it was gloved by a heavy iron gauntlet that looked as ancient as the garb that covered the shadow from head to armor-clad foot. In it lay cradled a ring, though it's detail escaped him; his vision was failing. An otherworldly voice spoke to him in what must have been a language, though he understood little but that it contained no menace.  
  
The hoods of the shadow-men turned towards each another, as though they were silently conversing amongst themselves. Reaching a consensus, their captain again spoke, this time in an understandable, if broken, tongue.  
  
"We are... friend..." A voice, high and gravelly, emanated from the recesses of it's robes. "We are... King... We are... Nazgul..."  
  
Harry smiled.  
  
********************  
  
"Come on, you two - you don't think you overreacted, even a little?"  
  
"Shove off, Ginny, this doesn't concern you," Ron said sharply to his sister. She glared back at him, but was cut-off from replying by Hermione.  
  
"Ron! Honestly..." Hermione, always fast to rebuke Ron for his sharp tongue, turned to Ginny. "He had no right to be keeping secrets! It's so... irresponsible of him! Any thinking person would know how important it was for him to write Dumbledore about his dreams! In the very least, he could of told his closest friends..."  
  
Ginny looked at them in shock. Here were two members of the infamous trio, the unbreakable friendship that survived hell and high-water, being so petty over something they didn't understand, could never understand.  
  
"You have no idea what a burden it is, seeing every night what he sees!"  
  
"Oh, and you're really an expert on the subject, are you?" Ron sneered.  
  
The look she gave Ron was one of pure ice, one reserved only for Slytherins and, had she any, her enemies.  
  
"You, of all people, should know that to be true."  
  
Ron looked suddenly abashed as the meaning of her words sunk in, for of course she would be familiar to the terrors of the night. His anger melted away, and he was left only with a sense of deep sadness, for he then realized that he had lashed out at his friend when he was at a point of deep despair.  
  
Hermione, for her usual levelheadedness, desperately clung to her accusations in an attempt to avoid the coming guilt and grief.  
  
"He should have told us..." she said, quietly, as tears formed in her eyes. "He should have..." She dissolved into tears. "It's... too hard to..."  
  
Ron took her hand, realizing her discontent, and attempted to soothe her with quiet words. After some time passed, she was calm again.  
  
"We... did mess up, didn't we," Hermione said, emotionlessly, to her nearest friends.  
  
"Yes, you certainly did." Ginny sighed. She could not guess whether she would have been more comforted if her secret-love had been reporting his deeply disturbing dreams to Professor Dumbledore (or at least his friends), or if she had never had the misfortune to stumble across his slumbering form, suffering at the hands of unseen foes. She felt that, in retrospect, she could have saved him much grief if she had never let slip this information to her brother and her friend. Nevertheless, she knew that he did himself no favors by bottling inside his horrors, to torment him and leave him without release. "Ron... you should... you know, go upstairs and..." Harry had last been seen storming up to his dormitory that he shared with her brother and other Gryffindor fifth year students.  
  
Ron paled, and nodded. His shoulders set, he walked determinedly up the stairs and out of sight. Ginny lay back in her chair, fatigued at having diffused the argument, and expecting a good half-hour of peace before her brother returned. It came as a great surprise, then, that he came down the stairs in haste, stomping as loud as his large feet could manage.  
  
"He's not there! He's gone!"  
  
********************  
  
The leader of the Nazgul kings removed his hand from the top of Harry's head, having somehow extracted the intricacies of the English language from his mind.  
  
"English... a queer language, young one, nevertheless it is now ours to command. We are Nazgul, Kings of men from our distant land. We have watched you for some time now, from a place of shadow, and we saw your torment... we come to offer to you our friendship..."  
  
The Captain of the Nazgul still held out his hand, still offered the ring. It glinted strangely in the light of the moon, and seemed to radiate coldness.  
  
"Is that not what you desire most? Friendship... that is your desire... acceptance. This you will find in our number, for only the Lords of Men shall find peers among us."  
  
"Then you offer your friendship mistakenly, for I am no Lord!" Harry said, bewildered at the sudden return of his senses, and surprised that fear was not among them.  
  
The Captain seemed to gaze at him, though Harry could not see his eyes to know where their focus rest. "You are unaware of your noble blood-line, Lord Gryffindor?"  
  
Harry, who had gained the strength to sit on his haunches, now toppled backwards. "Lord... Gryffindor?" And deep in the back of his mind, it seemed that not only was their no deception issuing forth from the lips of the Nazgul, but that it was... right. It could only be truth. "Yes... I shall be Lord Gryffindor?"  
  
"You are Lord Gryffindor... so you do not disbelieve? And you are right not to! What is there to gain from the keeping of secrets? ...And yet, we still do not have your full trust... Accept the Ring, for then you will see us - see us, and know that we are true, sincere..."  
  
Harry could not take his eyes off of the ring now even if he desired to look on it no more; he was enraptured with it. Slowly, his hand trembling with mild trepidation and much exhaustion, moved towards the ring... and then it was in his hand, and it was indeed cold, cold as ice; and then, as he admired the "trinket" he came to realize that his body was becoming increasingly hotter - merely warm, initially, then feverishly hot, and then he felt as though he were being scalded with boiling water. The heat was maddeningly uncomfortable, except where the ring touched the palm of his hand. Quickly, he took the ring in his left hand - the heat abated at the tips of his fingers with which he held it - and then slipped the too- large band onto his index finger. Just as suddenly as the heat came, it went; and the cold as well. The ring seemed to have shrunk to fit his finger securely, and it seemed as though it had been there always. He looked up...  
  
...And saw not cloaks and shadows but eight tall men, pale, and knew that there was something odd about their appearance, but he did not see it; he saw only the warm smiles on the faces of the Nazgul, the acceptance written plainly on their Kingly countenances. Silver circlets, inset with jewels of varying color, adorned their heads; their hair was silvery, but did not make them appear old, though Harry knew they were indeed old.  
  
"Welcome, Harry son of James, Lord Gryffindor. We are Nazgul."  
  
Harry waited for him to say more, and then became aware that a response was expected of him. He cleared his throat, trying desperately to think of the proper response. Always, one thing came to mind, and, with no alternate response forthcoming, said:  
  
"We are... Nazgul..."  
  
They smiled.  
  
TBC...  
  
AN: I am aware that this chapter will invariably confuse many, if not most of you. Please, give it time; all will become clarified. The idea for this story has been with me for a while now, growing and shaping itself into something that I myself would enjoy reading. Please note that this story takes place immediately after the Death of Sauron in Book Six of The Lord of the Rings, in which the remaining eight Ringwraith's disappeared mysteriously; as well as taking place in autumn of Harry's 5th year in the Harry Potter universe. Also, for the sake of this work of fan-fiction, note that time passes much faster in the Harry Potter universe than in the LotR universe, so that the passage of several months for Harry may only span a week's time in Middle-Earth. This story will have hints of romance in it, though it is doubtful that these will become strong themes in my story. You should not expect any SHIP's except for Harry/Ginny and Ron/Hermione, if even these; these are the only SHIP's that I ship. I apologize profusely if any other author has gotten it into their head that I am ripping off their story; I do not know if their exists a story the same or similar to mine in fandom, I know only that I have not read one like it yet. I acknowledge that neither The Lord of the Rings nor Harry Potter are owned by me - they belong to their respective authors - and I wish to make clear that I am making no money off of the posting of my story. As with all fanfiction, if you have any strong feelings about this story - good or bad - or any constructive criticism for me, then leave a review. Flames do not deter me; they serve only to keep my toes warm on cold nights. Thank you for reading; I hope that you enjoy reading this as much as I have so far enjoyed writing it! Oh, yes, almost forgot - in order to fully appreciate this story, one must be familiar with The Lord of the Rings, else much of it will go straight over your head. Yours faithfully (I hope), Maegnas 


	2. And Then There Were Nine

Chapter 2 - And Then There Were Nine  
  
Dawn approached. A young Hufflepuff girl stood with arms crossed and shivering on the bounds of the Forbidden forest, waiting for her dorm-mates to appear. They had planned to make a name for themselves and one-up the infamous exploits of the Gryffindors by thoroughly exploring the Forest and bragging shamelessly about it for all the school to hear. They theorized that, the school being run by the omnipotent Albus Dumbledore, there would be nothing for them to fear anywhere on the school grounds. They thought that the warnings against the forest were only to keep students within sight of the staff, that all of the tales about the forest were mere fabrications. They thought wrong.  
  
The eastern sky was steadily taking on a pink tinge. Her friends were still nowhere to be seen, and her Heating Charm, ineptly applied, had long ago worn off. She was becoming increasingly aware of how dark it was in the forest behind her, and longed for the warmth and dryness of her bed back at the castle. Truth be told, she had deep misgiving's about this whole operation; she thought it to be silly and childish, though she had difficulty convincing her friend's that her opinion had nothing to do with cowardice on her behalf.  
  
Not forty yards away, a rooster crowed from behind Hagrid's hut. She glanced at her watch. Her friends were notoriously lax on the matter of punctuality, and had lost Hufflepuff quite a few points in the past two years because of it. She shivered and now regretted her haste to reach the appointed place; otherwise, she wouldn't be having a nagging urge to knock on Hagrid's door and ask to use his loo. All was dark.... and silent...  
  
The calm of the passing night was broken suddenly, replaced by a terrible din. The young Hufflepuff felt as though her heart had started pumping ice through her veins; though she turned toward the disturbance, terror bound her to the spot. A shrieking as of banshee's, or something more horrible, was rending the former tranquility of the pre-dawn forest. Were her mind not consumed by terror and sudden, nameless despair, she would have felt the highest mortification at realizing that she no longer felt any urge to run for a lavatory.  
  
Just as suddenly as the din started, it stopped, or perhaps the source of it was too far away for the shrieking to reach her ears; whatever the reason, she had regained control of her legs, and ran straight for the castle. Her cries replaced the earlier maelstrom, ushering in a new, if somewhat premature, day for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.  
  
********************  
  
Darkness reigned in the Forbidden Forest, except for one small clearing at its center. Though many strange and terrible creatures often congregated there, none so strange as the nine robed and cloaked figures had ever stood there before.  
  
"What must I do?" Harry asked. His eyes were drawn still to the ring. Though it appeared to be made of polished gold, it did not reflect the light of the moon or stars; rather, it seemed to be incandescent of its own accord, radiating some inner light. The surface was encrusted with tiny gems that appeared to change colors periodically; red to green, green to white, white to black, black to blue and back to red, nestled among the ridges and grooves of the ring's surface. Already he thought of the ring as his own.  
  
"Though you have declared your intention, we feel that we must first tell you what being a Nazgul will entail. We begin in regards to our gift to you, a Ring of Power. I say it is a gift, though it is also a restriction, for you must never remove it from your hand. It was forged by our Master, and it bestows upon the one who wears it not just membership in our ranks, but it also gives to the wearer certain gifts. Of these we are not certain, for each ring, while all sharing some common characteristics, also give unique powers to their wearers, and our former Captain never revealed these to us. Just as well, for we who remain keep our secrets..." He smiled, in a sad sort of way. "You must not remove the ring, for when you wear it, we may be summoned to your call, and so you may be summoned to our council."  
  
Harry, still exhausted, took to his feet so that he could be level with the Nazgul. Still they towered over him; the shortest of the eight was at least six feet tall, a good five inches more than Harry. He nodded in assent.  
  
"Our only other condition is the most important, for we Nazgul are but servants to our Lord and Master, Sauron."  
  
Harry's knees buckled from a combination of fatigue and faint alarm. He stood up as fast as his tired body would allow. "Who is this Sauron?"  
  
The One Harry had at first perceived to be the Nazgul Captain smiled. "He is one like us, and like you. He is betrayed by his Kingdom, and when last we had sight of him, he was greatly distressed. That is why we seek you: we needed one of your noble bloodline and your prowess in the arcane arts to return us to our homeland. ...We do not know where we are, or how we got here. Our Captain would be able to return us - he was the wisest of our number, and he shared in your gifts - but for the fact that he fell in battle with the enemy." He glowered, and Harry felt a new chill pass through the forest.  
  
Harry was moved by this tale, for he knew all too well the sting of betrayal. Of all the horrors that he had faced in the past four years, the most terrible of these were the times that his peers had turned their backs on him, not necessarily because they truly believed him capable of whatever evil had been committed (assault on student's and glory-hogging, respectively), but because it was comforting for them to think themselves better than he. Harry scowled. He would not sit idly by and let another be subjected to such unjust judgement, even though he knew little of this Sauron. He looked up, and met the gaze of the Nazgul.  
  
"I accept."  
  
Again, the Nazgul smiled. "It is done; you are now a Nazgul. Not only a Nazgul; for if we deem you fit to the role, we will make you our Captain to replace the fallen King of Angmar, and you may yet lead us in battle for the glory of Sauron! But first... we saw in your mind a vision of your foes... we shall help you defeat them all, ere our passing from this world." A great weight was lifted from Harry's heart at this; never before had he been offered him assistance in his fight against Voldemort and his Death Eaters; a burden was lifted from his shoulders.  
  
The eight raised their black swords in salute, and all began to chant: "Ash nazg durbatuluk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatuluk, agh burzum-ishi krimpatul!" Harry was torn between feeling awe at the sheer power behind the words and cringing with each harsh word uttered.  
  
They sheathed their swords. "Dawn approaches," the One said. "We cannot linger; it is time for you to leave the forest."  
  
Harry felt guilty, for he had not until then given a thought to the friends he had left behind.  
  
The Nazgul perceived. "Why are you so troubled? Do you so easily forget why you are here? Your friends," the Nazgul practically spat the word, "blame you for what has come to pass. Do you expect them to welcome you back with open arms?" He laughed, a hollow, empty laugh. "We will cure you of your naivete ere our passing, if that be the only service we provide you. We will accompany you to the edge of the wood, but there we must part for a short time. Our business takes us elsewhere..."  
  
Harry took a step, and all fatigue left him. His thoughts settled on the last words of the Nazgul as he followed them through the forest.  
  
********************  
  
Dawn approached. The light of the new day reflected on the weary face of Ron Weasley, who stood before the great window in the Gryffindor Common Room. His gaze fell on the grounds below, scanning over the greenhouses, the distant Quidditch pitch, the Forbidden Forest. There his eyes lingered... too many memories were associated with that foul place.  
  
"I think we should go look for him, Ron."  
  
He turned his head slightly. His sister and one of his closest friends sat on the sofa, watching him watching nothing. He couldn't tell whose voice had spoken. His mind felt like it was on fire, and not in a good way. He had waited all through the night for Harry to return, to no avail. He could not remember the last time that he had gone so long without sleep... Only for Harry, he thought to himself. His smile was grim; he was only getting a taste of what Harry must have been feeling like for the past three months. If only he had opened up to them; maybe Profesor Dumbledore could have sent a potion or something to make falling asleep less painful for him. The visions...  
  
He shook his head to stop his mind from going down that path; he did not want to feel terrified as well as tired. "Ron..." Ginny... yes, definitely Ginny's voice. Hermione had been quiet since she had her emotional breakdown however many hours ago, it wasn't likely that she would be talking now...  
  
"Ron!"  
  
"What?" Her shrill voice could wake up even the heaviest sleeper; he knew that from personal experience. He made a complete about-face and threw his sister a glare.  
  
"I said that we should go find Harry! It's almost morning, look, the sun is already rising! The sun had just barely set when he left..." Her face paled. "He might have... have gone into the forest... I've heard stories about what lives in there... horrible stories..."  
  
"You don't know the half of it," Ron's face, so recently drawn with weariness, was now wide-awake with a fear-fueled rush of adrenaline. "We can't afford to wait, if he did go into the forest. Come on, we need to wake up Dumbledore." Hermione nodded mutely. Ron stared at her for a second, his head cocked to the side; he shook his head, and, taking Hermione by the hand, made for the Portrait Hole.  
  
"Ron! You've left your -" The Portrait Hole slammed shut - "wand..."  
  
Sighing, she picked up Ron's wand from the floor, located Hermione's wand on the sofa where she had been sitting dazed all night. She stumbled out of the Portrait Hole, and half-ran after the retreating forms of Ron and Hermione. 


End file.
